I was a child of the 70s, and even now, decades later, Christmas morning still lives vividly in my memory.
I can see it clearly. It is 3 or 4 am, far earlier than any reasonable hour, and I am already awake. My feet barely touch the floor as I run down the hall and burst into my parents’ bedroom, asking the only question that matters, “Has HE been here yet?”
That anticipation, that pure, unfiltered excitement, is something you never quite forget.
Downstairs, the rec room waited. Wood-panel walls that, today, would probably raise an eyebrow, but back then felt warm and magical. Holiday stencils were taped carefully to those walls. The smell of the fir tree filled the room. And yes, toys and wrapping paper littered the floor; there was always a Fisher-Price toy, a superhero figurine, and a book of Life Savers (two-sided – with 12 different flavours). Funny how memory works. It is those details that remain strongest. The feeling, the smell, the setting.
And the cookies. My grandmother’s shortbread cookies were, quite simply, legendary. Buttery, crumbly perfection. I am not exaggerating when I say I could put away 30 in one sitting, and proudly so. That, too, is etched into my memory far more than any specific gift I received. I’m so lucky my wife is a fantastic baker and can replicate both the icing and the cookie.
In fact, when I think back, it is striking how little I remember about the presents themselves. What stayed with me was the magic wrapped around them.
There was, of course, the moment when “the news” arrived. I was eight or nine, and the truth about Santa was gently shared. Even now, that moment still resonates. Not because it was cruel or abrupt, but because it marked a quiet transition. A realization that some magic changes shape as we grow older. It does not vanish; it evolves.
My teenage years brought a different kind of Christmas magic. Church became central. Christmas Eve Mass held a depth that is hard to put into words. The hymns, the collective joy, the sense of calm and reverence, and yes, the hope for a light snowfall on the drive home.
One moment stands above the rest. O Holy Night, each year sung solo by a young girl in the choir. The church lights dimmed right after communion. The entire space seemed to hold its breath. Even now, thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. It was awe, pure and simple.
Fast forward a few decades, and the magic returned in a new way. Watching our kids experience Christmas with the same wonder and excitement has been one of life’s great gifts. Jesus, Santa, and yes, even Gretel, our very own Elf on the Shelf, all play their roles. Seeing their eyes light up, their anticipation builds, their belief feels so absolute, it rekindles something deep inside you.
With my wife and I being such Christmas fanatics, it is probably no surprise our kids feel the same way. The traditions, the music, the decorations, the stories. It all becomes part of the fabric of family life.
So why all this reflection now?
This season has been sending signals. We have already had significant snow, and a White Christmas feels almost guaranteed. Something is grounding about that, something that feels right.
At the same time, when we walk our dog in the evenings, we cannot help but notice something else. Fewer houses with lights on than in years past. I do not know why. Maybe it is fatigue, or finances, or simply the times we are living in. But it makes me a little sad.
With my love of physics and space, I have often joked, half seriously, that if aliens do exist, and I believe they do, then December would be a fascinating time for them to observe Earth. The lights. The music. The gatherings. The generosity. Much of what is good about humanity becomes more visible during this season. It is a time unlike any other throughout the year.
I would hate to see that fade.
And so I reflect, grateful for what this year has given. Like everyone, I’ve had a year full of both challenges and successes. Life is never without them. But standing back, taking it all in, it still feels like a wonderful, yes, the most wonderful, time of the year.
A time to slow down. To remember. To be thankful. To cherish what we have and who we share it with.
From my family to yours, Merry Christmas.